


Ordinary

by killerweasel



Series: Ordinary [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-18
Updated: 2012-11-18
Packaged: 2017-11-19 00:48:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/567168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killerweasel/pseuds/killerweasel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life and death situations shouldn't be a game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ordinary

Title: Ordinary  
Fandom: _Sherlock_  
Characters: John Watson, Jim Moriarty  
Word Count: 1544  
Rating: PG-13  
Warnings: talk of suicide  
A/N: AU after _A Scandal in Belgravia_

 

John isn’t sure what woke him. Maybe it was a noise or maybe it was just his army instincts kicking in. Whatever the cause, he opens his eyes to find someone looming over his bed. He goes from slumber to full alert in a matter of seconds. One moment he’s in the bed and the next he’s attacking whoever has not only broken into the flat, but come into his room. It isn’t until he shoves the man backwards into the light spilling in from the hallway that he discovers that the intruder is Moriarty.

He doesn’t need a weapon to kill someone. He is a weapon. Before he even realizes what he’s doing, John’s hands are around Moriarty’s throat. For a very brief moment, Moriarty’s eyes go wide with surprise, as if this action had never occurred to him. John slams Moriarty’s body up against the wall hard enough to make the pictures rattle. He tightens his grip slowly, watching the reaction on Moriarty’s face.

The madman’s eyes flutter closed as his airway is cut off. John frowns when he discovers Moriarty isn’t even trying to fight back. Normally when someone is trying to kill you, you do whatever it takes to stay alive. Moriarty’s skin goes from an angry red to an almost alarming shade of purple. When John sees the small smile on Moriarty’s lips, a wave of horror goes crashing through him. Moriarty wants to die at John’s hands. He even seems to be okay with this. Instead of ‘death by police’, he’s going for ‘death by John Watson’. Moriarty might be fine with this, but John sure as hell isn’t.

John releases Moriarty’s throat and backs away from him as quickly as possible. He can see his handprints very vividly on Moriarty’s pale skin. Moriarty collapses onto the floor, clutching at his neck while gasping and coughing. The man is completely vulnerable right now, but John can’t bring himself to do any more damage. There’s something very wrong about this entire situation. John looks around for Moriarty’s weapon. There isn’t one to be found. A knot forms in the pit of John’s stomach. He’s apparently dealing with a completely suicidal psychopath.

With a sigh, John heads into the kitchen. He pulls a bag of frozen corn out of the freezer, smacks it against the counter a couple of times to make it more bendable, and then goes back to Moriarty’s side. John crouches down on the floor next to the madman and very gently pushes Moriarty’s hands out of the way before setting the bag on his throat. Moriarty hisses softly at the contact.

John eases his body down to the floor, making sure to keep an arm’s length between him and the man he’s just attacked. If the police show up, what he’s done is justifiable, right? After all, Moriarty has tried to kill him in the past, hasn’t he? John frowns. When he thinks back to what happened before the pool, he remembers being manhandled by Moriarty’s goons. He’d broken at least one of their noses and another’s ribs before they’d overwhelmed him and pinned him to the floor. Other than that, none of them had laid a finger on him even though the expressions on the wounded goons’ faces had promised retaliation. Moriarty hadn’t touched John at all. He’d moved in close, came within a breath away, but never actually made any physical contact. One of the goons had put the bomb on him.

It had all been some sort of game. The more John thinks about it, the more his head starts to hurt. Sure, he’d been wrapped up in explosives, but somehow he knew Moriarty wouldn’t blow them up. If they’d died at the pool, the game would be over. Other than Mycroft, there aren’t a whole lot of people who can give Moriarty a run for his money in the genius department. John can’t picture Mycroft lowering himself to play Moriarty’s games. Maybe that’s why Moriarty had chosen Sherlock instead.

John isn’t a stupid man. While he certainly isn’t on the same level as Moriarty and Sherlock, he is very capable of figuring things out on his own. Sometimes he even manages to figure things out before Sherlock does, though it happens very rarely, because he went with the simplest explanation. Not every case is as complicated as Sherlock hopes it will be. Sherlock tends to look for the weird and unusual and ignore things right in front of his face. He knows how this is all going to end. Sherlock or Moriarty will be killed playing one of their games (though deep in his heart he doesn’t think either of them will survive the final round and he’ll probably be there to see it happen).

There’s absolutely no sane reason for Moriarty to be here right now. Sherlock has been out of the country on a case for the last two days and won’t be back for at least another week. Moriarty should know this as he always seems to know exactly what Sherlock is up to. This seems to make his ‘death by John Watson’ theory a very valid one.

Icy fingers on his arm shake John from his thoughts. He glances over at Moriarty, hoping to keep any concern and confusion off of his face. Moriarty tries to say something, but the only noise he can make is a horrible croak. He scowls before pulling something out of his pocket. John watches him scribble a note on a piece of paper. Moriarty shoves the paper in his direction.

After John reads what’s on the paper, he starts to laugh. He can’t help himself. It says ‘ _Thank you, Dr. Watson. No longer bored. :)_ ’. When he looks in Moriarty’s direction, there’s a huge, manic smile on the other man’s face.

Everything suddenly makes much more sense. He’s seen what Sherlock does when he gets bored, stab dead pigs with harpoons or shoot holes in the wall. Moriarty must get bored just as frequently. A part of John knows the final solution to boredom would be death. If you’re dead, you certainly can’t be bored.

John thinks about calling Lestrade, telling him he has Moriarty on the floor in the flat. Moriarty would be arrested, but John doubts he’d stay in jail for very long unless he wishes to do so. He could call Mycroft, except he has a pretty good idea of what Mycroft’s men would do to Moriarty if they had their hands on him. Besides, if Moriarty was to vanish, his criminal empire would collapse without him holding onto the strings. The resulting chaos would get more than a few innocent people killed. Sometimes the devil you know is better than the devil you don’t.

After a while, Moriarty manages to sit up. He removes the now semi-thawed bag of corn from his neck. Even though John can still see the bruises there, he’s fairly certain he didn’t do any permanent damage to Moriarty’s throat. He has the feeling Moriarty would allow John to examine him if the doctor thought it was necessary.

John gets to his feet, wincing as his knees pop. He closes the distance between them and holds his hand out to Moriarty. The man stares at the offered hand for a moment before taking it. John helps him to his feet, being prepared to grab onto Moriarty should the man start to tumble over.

They walk into the living room where Moriarty takes a seat on the couch. He hands John the bag of corn. John throws it back in the freezer, knowing it will probably be useful in the future. He makes them both tea, but also fills a mug with plain water in case Moriarty would rather have something cooler. He knows most people wouldn’t do this, most people wouldn’t be nice to an enemy, let alone an enemy they’d come very close to killing. But most people aren’t John. They don’t deal with the things he deals with on a regular basis. They don’t find themselves wrapped up in the games of a couple of geniuses. John decides he’s taking the high road and will be very civil to his unwanted guest.

He comes back with the mugs to find Moriarty tracing his fingers along the worst of the bruises. He takes the mug of water John offers him, taking a few sips. John sits down next to him. For a while, they simply sit in silence, drinking what they have. John throws in a movie, some science fiction film he can’t watch when Sherlock is around because the consulting detective feels the need to point out everything that’s impossible in it. Moriarty actually looks pleased with his choice. John files this fact away for the future. Maybe Moriarty doesn’t delete the things Sherlock considers useless.

The film is almost finished when John turns to Moriarty. He gives the man a very small smile before speaking. “If you ever get this bored again and Sherlock’s not around, you are more than welcome to come watch another movie with me. Just call first so we can skip the whole strangling thing.”

When Moriarty laughs, John knows he’s won this round of the game.


End file.
